Spit out of Hell
by BrowneyedShamer
Summary: Taran doesn't feel like the glorified Hero everyone is making him out to be.Bored out of his mind he makes another deal with the witches. Expect it to be SLASH!


**VirgoWolf** and I started watching the Black cauldron during a sleep over and since we LOVE slash, we decided to write two stories dictated to both. Mine is what happen after the black cauldron was destroyed and hers is what could have happened if it never was. So let the fun continue and enjoy our stories...I know we had a blast writing them! ;)

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><p><strong>Spit out of Hell<strong>

Rubbing his brown hair tiredly with blood shot eyes, the young hero, Taran, gazed out along the muggy waters of the lake. He sighed heavily, his lack of sleep obvious to all who knew him, to all but a certain princess. She'd been nagging him for the past week and he was quickly running out of places to hide where her magic glowing orb couldn't discover him. To date the lake where the witches had taken Black Cauldron and Gurgi had been revived, was the only place Princess Eilonwy had not dared to tread nor her orb. At his side hung his magic sword but Taran no more believed he was a great hero then he did the Horn King would come back. He kicked a stray pebble that splashed into the river with a plop.

"I'm no hero." Taran sighed heavily.

Ever since he had returned the girl princess to her rightful place, her father had gratefully rewarded him, the bard Fflewddur had even enthusiastically composed a song about his great deeds. None of which the young boy desired. True, he had wanted to be a grand hero, go on valiant quests and be respected by all but now he'd give anything for peace. Surrender the glory, the fame and all the praise, he felt he didn't actually deserve. To return to his old life, an assistant pig keeper got more space to breathe and think then he ever did in his new life as a savior.

"I'm no hero." Taran breathed, the saying having become his mantra in the last few months.

"If you're no hero." A witchy voice cackled from the purple cloud that suddenly loomed above, blocking the cheery sun from view. "Then might I offer you a trade for it?"

Taran's shoulders slumped as he flopped to the ground, not caring that his nice breeches got muddied in the process. "You don't have anything I want. I have a nice house of my own, lots of gold, favor of the king and the status of a hero. What can you give me I don't have?"

The green women frowned and jumped down from her cloud laughing on the journey down to lightly land on the tip of her pointed shoes. Her potted face twisted up into a malicious smile. She twirled her fingers and observed the boy who ignored her, choosing to stare at the muddy ground instead. The old women tightened her tattered shawl around her angled form and marched towards the skinny lad.

"I know what you seek. You may not know, but I do." The women stated in a low voice.

Taran laughed dryly. "How can I trust the words of a witch? You're all tricksters and swindlers? You've proven that twice already."

The women squinted her left eye and cocked her head to the side while popping her hip. "Before the rise of your gods and narrow minded thoughts, we witches where guarded as wise women and consulted on many matters."

"I don't care."

"Just trust me, you have nothing to gain and thus nothing you'd miss." The women purred bending down to run a curved finger across his cheek, her other hand reaching around the boy to unclip his magic sword at his slight nod of approval. "May your days be filled with the thrill you so crave." She hissed into his ear and backed up before disappearing in a swirl of purple smoke and gold sparkles.

Taran shuttered and violently rubbed his ear, the ghost of her breathe lingering. He muttered darkly and oddly enough didn't mourn the loss of the sword at his side; instead it felt more as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his thin shoulders. He grinned lightly and traced invisible pictures on the ground. He felt more alive than he had in months; reminded of his time as an assistant pig keeper. Without his mighty magical sword he felt as if he no longer had to play the gallant hero and be more of the adolescent boy who loved climbing trees and reading from spell books. His mind made up Taran stood, brushing the dirt off his bum, and headed back, his destination: home.

A loud crack of thunder followed by a flash of lightening caught him off guard, he paused in his stride and turned back to gaze upon the lapsing waters of the river, his face contorted in horror and curiosity. Bubbled erupted from the depth and the wind picked up, slamming against his body like bricks. He hunched over, covering his eyes but his ears perked up at the sound of splashing. He peeked from between his fingers, his brown locks flapping in the strong gust laden with leaves that clung to his body. Taran gasped as a hand burst from the turbulent waters, soon joined by another. Tartan watched in stunned silence as a lithe man emerged from the waters that had calmed and now gently rushed past his knees. Taran slowly lowered his hands from his face, his jaw hanging open in disbelief.

The man looked up at the boy and grinned crookedly, with dark eyes that suggested many things. All of which twisted at Taran's gut. He tried to work his mouth bit no sound came. He was frozen in place, not sure what to do next.

"What are you staring at boy? Have you seen a ghost arisen from the grave?" The man said in a dark, haunting voice.

Taran's gut clenched in horror as the blood in his veins froze in panic. He knew that voice, that strong dark voice that haunted his memories. He looked deep into the man's eyes and could almost make out the red hidden behind the brown irises. He shook his head and stumbled back, wanting to escape more than anything, praying this was just a bad dream. Begging his mind to stop playing games, and awaken.

"I've come to claim what's mine." The former Horned King said deeply as he waded forward, Taran backing with his every step.

The former daemon king was no longer green or disfigured but returned to his youthful glory. Although his angular face and hooked nose still spoke of danger and his broad shoulders squared told of a regal birth but the smirk on his face showed his arrogance while his eyes sparkled maliciously. Around his waist a ripped cloth of red hid him, but his lean muscles left nothing to imagination. The king continued to walk out of the water, eyes trained on the young hero.

"Your Castle was destroyed and men imprisoned." Taran gasped.

"Meaningless. I have a better prize in mind, one to even outshine the cauldron."

Taran gulped loudly, not wanting to hear about another dark object the former king could use for his dastardly deeds. "W-What is it?"

The man ran a long, pale finger along his chin in thought. His face twisting into a joyous smile that made Taran want to retch. "You, boy! You are mine to claim!"

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><p><strong>Dun Dun DunDunnnnnn<strong>Oh snap! Yeah this was great, **VirgoWolf** and I were up at 4am re-watching the Black cauldron and writing these two stories for your enjoyment. So Enjoy! I have an idea where this might go and as hers will be darker and (most likely) smuttier I think mine might have a happy ending….but hey I could change my mind. Hahaha I think this is my best work yet! Thanks for reading!


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